


A House in Four Seasons

by Xie



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Britin - Freeform, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:03:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xie/pseuds/Xie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four seasons at Britin, the year after Justin goes to New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A House in Four Seasons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fun_demented](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fun_demented).



**Spring**

The trees were smothered in tiny phosphorescent green buds and half-unfurled leaves. Daffodils dotted the lawn. Birds were singing. Fluffy white clouds were floating across the sky. The sun was shining brilliantly down on the house, glinting off the windows, making the whole thing look like some nauseating Thomas Kincade painting.

I slammed the door of the Corvette. "I must have fucking been high when I bought this."

Michael was standing on the passenger side of the car, looking around without saying a word. Then he closed the car door and followed me around to the back of the house.

Michael had never been there, so I gave him the full tour. Pool… with a lovely seasonal algae bloom. Stables… picturesquely crumbling into the rocky soil. Tennis court… well, at least there was one spot on this place that didn't need a massive infusion of cash and man-hours to be halfway re-saleable.

"Fuck, Brian," he said, shaking his head. "This is…"

I cut him off. "Of course it is." We were here to make a level-headed business decision about a piece of real estate, not re-tell the story of the great love of Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor through the filter of Michael Novotny's romantic little brain.

Of course, it didn't work, although we made it to the living room before he got it out. "Brian, what happened?"

I walked over to the window and looked through the glass. It was crusted on the outside, with tracks from that morning's rain making ridges and valleys in the dust. "We didn't…" I stopped.

He waited, and I squinted at the light trying to cut through the window. "It wasn't what we wanted," I finally said.

Michael stepped a little closer. "What _do_ you want?"

I gave a short laugh, and looked at him. "Me?"

"Both of you."

I turned back to the window. Time, I thought. What I want is time.

I didn't realize I'd said it out loud until he answered me. "Well, can you afford to keep the house?"

I nodded, my back still to him.

He sounded patient. "Then take the time and decide about the house later. What's the rush?"

I shrugged and kept my eyes on the window, the green outside muddied by the dirty glass.

**Summer**

I was standing at the side of the pool, examining the result of the small fortune I'd invested in renovations. I finally had to admit that it looked sophisticated, tasteful and, of course, cool and wet – a definite improvement over the 50s concrete pool deck and aquamarine ceramic tile it replaced.

An improvement, also, I was sure, over the conditions Justin alternately described as "hellish" and "steam-room like" and that characterized the sweaty little box he lived in, which passed for affordable housing in New York.

This weekend, he'd be enjoying the five-figure HVAC system I'd had installed at the house. He might be enjoying it in rooms full of ladders and paint cans, but I was fairly sure as long as there was food in the refrigerator, a bed, and a bottomless supply of condoms and lube, he wouldn't complain.

I'd left my clothes draped over a sawhorse in the living room. The water felt icy on my sun-baked skin. I swam to the far end and back, then shook my wet hair out of my eyes... and grinned.

Justin was standing in the doorway, half in shade and half in sun, smiling at me while he tore off his shirt and dropped his jeans. His skin was slick against mine, and I was kissing his sweaty neck and face before he finished sliding into the water.

"God, this feels good," he sighed, his cock hard against my hip, his head tipping back so that his hair almost touched the surface of the pool. "Remind me what's so great about New York?"

I pulled him into deeper water, and his legs floated up and wrapped around my waist. "Art capital of the world. Clubs. Boutiques. Restaurants. Hot guys, culture, music, museums… shall I continue?"

He laughed, and kissed my jaw. "And yet, there's something about Pittsburgh… I just can't seem to put my finger on it…"

I pulled his hand down between us in the water. "Put your finger on this," I suggested.

"Just one?" he said, trailing it over the head of my cock.

I'd ordered lounge chairs, but they weren't there yet, so I fucked him in the half-finished living room on a pile of drop cloths, just like the first time. The cooled air blew over our wet skin, and I almost shivered when I felt my cock slide into his ass, and his heels press against my back.

His skin tasted like pool water and sweat. I came with my face pressed into his neck, my eyes closed against the bright light pouring in the tall windows.

**Fall**

It couldn't have been better if I'd hired Emmett to arrange it himself. Leaves dusting the lawn and the roads, diffuse fall light, even a few tasteful pumpkin displays on the neighbor's porches.

Too bad Justin's flight was late. Not just "Oh, it's the night before Thanksgiving and everyone's flying and the traffic's a mess" late, but "Maybe I'd make better time walking to Pittsburgh from New York" late. Or even, "Maybe I won't get there at all" late.

"Just call me when you take off," I told him. "I won't leave for the airport until your ass is actually on the plane."

I'd stopped by the house to make sure there was a supply of food, beer, condoms and lube. Everything was perfect, so I talked to the lad for a little while longer. He sounded pissed off and stressed out. I knew the cure for that, but it required the two of us to be naked and in a bed – not to mention in the same city – to work.

We were going to Deb's for dinner the next night, but I was bringing him back to the house that night. I hadn't spent a night there since the summer – a season for which I was feeling considerable nostalgia, as an early winter storm seemed like it was going to ruin the Thanksgiving weekend for just about everyone on the Eastern seaboard.

I got lost in my laptop for a little while, and then I checked the airline's website. And then Weather.com. And then I called him. "This isn't looking good."

He sounded incredibly frustrated. "No shit. My flight's canceled, Brian. I've been trying to rent a car, but they're all gone. And this fucking storm is supposed to last two days."

I shoved my hand through my hair. "Fuck." I hesitated. It hadn't started snowing here yet, but the storm was on its way to Pittsburgh. "I could drive up."

"Yeah, that's what I want for Thanksgiving, to have you die in a ten-car pile-up with all the other idiots trying to get somewhere in time for turkey. No, thanks."

I didn't say anything, and neither did he.

"Brian?"

I grunted. "Well, I guess next weekend…"

"I have to work." He sounded even more pissed off.

"I'll come up."

He sighed. "God, I've been home one single time since I left. You'd fucking think things would work out better than this."

I laughed. "You would? Have you learned nothing from life?"

"I'm the optimistic hopeful one, remember?"

I rolled my eyes. "What are you doing right now?"

Silence, then, "Heading for the subway."

"Call me when you get home. At least we have phone sex to be thankful for."

He was laughing when he hung up the phone. I just stared out the window into the front yard, waiting for the first sign of snow.

**Winter**

Christmas was kinder to us than Thanksgiving. It snowed, but just enough to make everything look like a greeting card and still allow planes to fly. He came in on the 23rd instead of Christmas Eve, so the traffic was only a nightmare and not actually like going to hell.

"I can't believe it," he said, throwing his arms around me outside the terminal. "I'm fucking here."

"Here? I don't mind the audience, but isn't it a little cold?"

He swatted at me, his lips bright red from the cold and the kiss I'd given him. I shoved him into the car and took him to the house.

The smile started before I turned into the driveway; I could see it even in the dim light of the dashboard. "And here I thought you'd be all bah, humbug," he said.

I shrugged and hit the garage door opener. "Emmett did it."

"Just one day, for no reason, all on his own?"

I ignored him, and just got out of the car.

He didn't go through the door to the house, but back out into the driveway. I hit the button to close the garage door, and ducked out as it slowly lowered.

Justin was standing in the middle of the snow that covered the lawn, shaking his head. I looped an arm around his shoulders, and raised an eyebrow.

"It's perfect."

I smiled, and pulled him towards the front door.

The house wasn't completely finished, but the kitchen, living room and master bedroom were. Emmett had clapped his hands with joy over the high ceilings and wall of windows in the living room; it took four men to get the tree in the house.

There was a fire – gas-started – in the fireplace, but I decided to break with tradition and fuck him upstairs, in the bed. I fell asleep with his head on my chest, but when I woke up in the middle of the night, he wasn't there.

I knew where he'd be, and I was right: curled on the sofa in the living room, with the fire built back up and the tree lights on, a mug in his hands.

I dropped onto the sofa next to him. "Cocoa? At your age?"

He held it out. "With a shot of whisky."

I laughed, and took a sip, then made a face. "It would be better without the chocolate. And the milk. And sugar."

He grinned and finished it.

We sat there for a while, soaking in the seasonal décor without talking. I was about to suggest we go back to bed, when he stood up abruptly and walked over to the window.

He turned and looked at me. "I really miss you."

I got up and walked to where he was standing. "Here's the thing," I said, and touched my forehead to his. "You said we don't need rings and vows, right?"

"Yeah." His voice was incredibly soft, but I heard him fine.

"I assume that means we don't need expensive real estate, either."

He laughed, his breath warm on my face. "Right."

"So we can keep the house, or sell it. It doesn't matter. But…" my voice trailed off, and I cleared my throat. "I thought it might be nice to have it to escape to, when the summers in New York are too hot, or for Christmas vacation, or…"

He was looking at me, and his smile was brighter than the lights on the tree, however much it pained me to admit I was comparing them. "New York?"

"Did I not mention that part?" I shrugged. "I thought I had. I wondered if you might enjoy living with me in a shockingly expensive high-end loft in Manhattan instead of your charmingly ramshackle and, let me remind you, freezing cold, non-air-conditioned Alphabet City pied-a-terre." I felt my lip turn in when I was done.

Justin's arms were wrapped tightly around my neck, and I could feel his body pressing along the length of mine. "I suppose I could do that," he said, still smiling. Then he looked at the fire, and the tree. "And I agree, we should keep this house for the summers…" he kissed me softly… "and Christmas vacations…" he kissed me again… "I bet spring is nice here, too…" another kiss.

"It is," I assured him. "Very green." I frowned. "With birds. And, I believe, flowers."

He nodded. "Thanksgiving. New Year's."

"Arbor Day," I offered.

He gave me one more kiss. "Somewhere to come home to."

I smiled. "Then it's a deal?"

"Deal."

I kissed him for a long time, and then we stood in the window, arms wrapped around each other, looking at the Christmas lights reflecting off the snow.


End file.
